


An Eon

by imma_redshirt



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Crying, F/M, This is sappy I'm sorry, let's pretend this has a decent title, mention of an age difference, please heed the rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 05:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13311852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imma_redshirt/pseuds/imma_redshirt
Summary: Imelda Rivera was no longer a young woman. She was no longer living, either.The long years of her life had aged her body and her voice, but she’d never been more aware of the fact until after her death, standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching her young husband sitting on his bed.





	An Eon

**Author's Note:**

> Brace yourselves, Imma is trying to write romance. It's not terribly explicit, but it is, y'know... well, it's rated M, so press that back button if ya know ya gotta. I've never had an easy time writing romancey things, but Imelda and Héctor just give me all these emotional feels, I had to do something.
> 
> If I've made any mistakes at all with my Spanish, please let me know!
> 
> Also, skeletons can cry because I said so. Fight me.

On a warm night in the spring of 1920, Héctor Rivera followed his wife down the hall to their room, laughing as quietly as possible at her whispered commands for silence. She smirked back at him, very much aware of his inability to remain quiet when he was this giddy, and lightly pinched his side in retaliation. He yelped then covered his mouth, laughing into his palm, as she pulled him into their room.

It was the second night after Héctor had returned home from a long trip away, and Imelda had planned to spend it in bed together, alone. He owed her that much for staying away for so long.

Coco was asleep in her own room nearby, curled beneath the quilt Imelda had sewn for her, cuddling a soft doll her Papá had brought from the city he’d visited. Their young daughter had taken far too long to go to sleep, still hyped on the excitement of Héctor’s return and the new song he had taught her, agreeing to lay down only after both her parents sang her a lullaby.

Their little girl was a light sleeper, so silence was of the utmost importance. Imelda had given Héctor a stern “Keep your voice _down_ this time” and Héctor had grinned, whispering, “Si, mi capitán.”

Now, after falling back onto the bed and pulling Imelda after him, Héctor reclined against the headboard and laid his hands gently against Imelda’s thighs.

She took his hands and guided them to her waist, where his fingers stroked the soft material of her blouse as she settled into his lap. 

“Hold me here,” she told him, hands still covering his, and rolled her hips.

He gasped and arched his back, unashamed, and kept his hands where she’d placed them. With a shuddering breath he answered, “Si, Imelda.”

The words sent a thrill through her, though she didn’t know why. Heart pounding, she ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and felt along the dip of his collarbone. She was going to go slow, to savor the body she hadn't touched and the gasps and whimpers she hadn't heard in days. Héctor was breathing carefully, chewing at his bottom lip, watching her face as she trailed one finger down the bit of skin that she could see between the unbuttoned shirt collar. 

“Muy bueno, mi amor,” she praised, and smiled at the pride in his eyes.

Carefully, she began to unbutton the rest of his shirt, until the expanse of his torso was visible, and she could push the wrinkled material off his shoulders. To pull the thing completely off, he would have to let her go, and she didn’t want that. She liked the warmth of his hands through her blouse, the slight tremble of his fingers. Hands smoothing along his flat stomach, she considered ordering him to remove it as fast as possible before holding her again, but no. She was content to have him only partially naked under her, for now. 

He stared up at her, brown eyes wide and adoring, as she raised her arms over her head to undo the ribbon in her hair.

“ _Bella,_ ” he breathed, as if unable to control himself, and Imelda thought she would have him kiss her lips next, and then between her breasts, and down along her belly until he was between her thighs. She would have him worship her, adore her, love her from the blush in her cheeks to the tips of her curling toes. Just as he’d promised in his songs and the letters and the words he’d whispered to her as they’d climbed the stairs to the home they’d built together. And she would treasure him, su alma gemela, for as long as they had together. 

She let her hair fall to her shoulders, and she cupped his face to pull him forward, unable to resist any longer, until she was kissing him fervently, stealing his breath and he stealing her sanity, this man she would spend the night and the rest of her nights with, el amor de su vida.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That had been an eon ago.

Imelda Rivera was no longer a young woman. She was no longer living, either.

The long years of her life had aged her body and her voice, but she’d never been more aware of the fact until after her death, standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching her young husband sitting on his bed.

Héctor perched at the edge of the mattress that had sat unused for so long. It had been part of an empty room in the Rivera apartments, waiting for the next family member that would rest on it after leaving the Land of the Living. Imelda had granted Héctor permission to use the room after the entire… debacle during the last Dia de Muertos. It had taken some convincing to get him to stay--including a few stern commands from Imelda herself--but the ridiculous man had finally conceded, and had been using the room for the past two months. 

The glass door that led to the small balcony outside was open, and Imelda could see a chair propped against the railing. The small, leather bound journal Victoria had given him was sitting open on the chair, with a stub of a pencil wedged between the pages, and words had been scribbled all over the visible paper.

On his bed, guitar in his arms, Héctor had his head bowed as he murmured the words to a tentative new song.

“ _Ah, las cosas pequenas,_ ” he sang, eyes closed. He taped the inside of his wrist against the wood for a quick beat, then strummed out a string of notes. “ _Las cosas pequenas que me encanta de ti… Hmm..._ ”

He hadn’t noticed her yet, hadn’t opened his eyes, and she’d been quiet as she walked down the hall from her own room, so he probably hadn’t heard her, either. Which was fine. She wanted to watch him for a while.

He’d died so young, and even though the years of slowly being forgotten in the Land of the Dead had chipped and broken his bones, his youth was still evident. Whereas Imelda’s skull had retained the shape of her aged face, Héctor’s skull still held the visage of the youthful man she’d fallen in love with. And though it had been so long since she’d seen his face, the curve of his cheeks and stretch of his lips when he smiled, she could still picture it in her mind. A face forever young.

Imelda reached up to feel her cheekbones. She had grown old without him, had formed wrinkles he’d never seen, had lost the smooth skin she’d never given a second thought to as a young woman. And the last time he had seen her alive, she’d been so young. He’d loved her, then. And she knew he loved her now, but she was not the same.

“Still the woman I love,” he’d told her three nights ago, when she’d finally voiced her worries. 

“We missed so much time together,” Imelda had said, frustrated at circumstances she couldn’t control. “I grew old without you, and you were here, alone. Oh, Héctor, we missed so much.”

“Si,” Héctor had answered with a smile. “But Imelda, we have another lifetime to make up for it. Now, no more tears, amor. Tell me another story.”

She can’t remember when, but sometime during his stay there, she had begun visiting him in his room. He’d always sit on his bed, while Imelda sat on the cushioned chair, and they’d just talk. About the family Hector was still getting to know, about who they would see when he was finally (hopefully) able to visit the Land of the Living. Sometimes about their life when they were young, before they’d made their sacrifices. They’d spent an entire two hours recounting a party they’d sung at together, and the angry, drunken men who Hector had inadvertently insulted enough for them to decide he should be dunked by his ankles into a nearby river. It had taken Imelda’s fierce threats against anyone harming her husband to drive them off. 

They’d spent much of those two hours laughing, and Imelda hadn’t laughed in such a way in a very long time. 

He’d held her hand after they’d stopped laughing, his touch gentle, and Imelda had held her breath waiting for more, but he hadn’t done any more than that. He’d watched her face as if waiting for something, and now Imelda knew what it had been.

He was waiting for her.

The morning after, in the early hours before sunrise, Imelda had passed his room to get ready for work at their nearby workshop, when she noticed the door ajar. She’d peered in and found Héctor sitting in the center of his bed, legs crossed, scribbling in his journal. Even in death, exhaustion was always evident, and Imelda immediately realized the man hadn’t slept since she’d left the room the night before. With a tsk, she’d pushed open the door.

“‘Melda!” He’d gasped, then scrambled off the bed. “Ay, I’m late, aren’t I? Un momentito, amor, let me, ah, change--”

“You’re not going to the workshop, Héctor,” she’d said, and led him back to his bed. She’d pushed on his shoulders until he’d sat down, and he’d stared up at her, eyes wide. “You need to sleep. I don’t know what your habits have been these past years, but in my house, I make certain my family gets their rest, do you understand?”

Smiling, Héctor had chuckled and averted his gaze almost shyly before saying, “Si, Imelda.”

And it had been those words that had brought her back two nights later, after she’d finally gathered the courage to do what she was about to do. It had been so long since he’d last held her, and she was not the same beauty she’d been when she was young. Oh, she knew she’d still been a sight as an old woman--refined, someone had called her once, and she’d been content with it. But, even though she’d seen that same adoration in his eyes from decades ago, what if…

What if he couldn’t love her the same way he once had?

Well. There was only one way to find out.

“Is this what you’ve been working on?” She asked, and smiled when Héctor blinked up at her as if coming out of a stupor.

“My brand new song,” he said. "I've been very inspired lately."

When Imelda stepped into the room, he immediately set his guitar aside and waited for her to go to her chair by the bed, as she had most nights.

But after she locked the door behind her, she went to him instead.

He stared, brown eyes going wide, as she walked up close enough for her dress to brush against his knees. She stroked her hand along his jaw, and paused when he reached up to clasp her hand in his own.

She felt her phantom heart beating as she said, barely above a whisper, “Will you let this old woman distract you for a moment?”

“Always, amor,” he said, and turned his face to kiss the bones of her hand. 

Confidence growing, she took his hands and guided them to her hips, where he held her with a noticeable tremble.

“Hold me here,” she said, memories of their past guiding her.

“Si, Imelda,” he breathed, and, almost immediately, before Imelda could make any more moves--he began to cry.

Horrified, Imelda cupped his face in her hands. Of all the outcomes she had thought of, she’d never expected this! “Héctor?”

“D-don’t mind me,” he said, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He looked up at her with a wavering smile. “I’m just--I never thought--” He shook his head and rested his cheek against her midriff, face hidden in the violet material of her dress. “I never thought I’d ever have the chance to hold you again.”

“Oh, Héctor,” Imelda said, unable to hide the tremble in her own voice, and sank down until she was sitting in his lap. 

Innocently, mind you, without the intent she’d entered the room with. She hung her arms around his shoulders and held him close, allowing him to cry silently into her shoulder. His arms had circled her waist and he clung to her as she stroked his hair.

“Lo siento,” he said, voice muffled.

Imelda shook her head. He had nothing to apologize for, not now. “No te preocupes, amor. Relájate.”

She waited a breath, suddenly nervous, before saying, “I am sorry it took me so long to come to you, Héctor. I--”

“Imelda, no,” Héctor said, and he was looking up at her now, eyes watery, incredulous. “You have nothing to apologize for. Por favor, don't apologize. Whatever happened is in the past. You're with me now. What more could I want?”

Imelda fought the tears that threatened to fall as she glanced away, more nervous than before. “You could want the young woman you had before. I don't have the same beauty anymore.”

She looked at him, fearful of what he would say, but also daring him to insult her.

Instead, he leaned back just enough to gaze up at her. Imelda saw the same adoration he’d looked at her with when they’d been young together, the same love she still held for him reflected back at her. He reached up, hand grazing her cheek where there had once been the frown lines of an old woman he’d never seen, and ran his fingers along the ribbon in her hair.

“You're the same Imelda I've always loved,” he said through his tears, and Imelda couldn’t stop her own tears from falling. “No matter the changes you have gone through. My fierce, brilliant capitán. Y que bella, mi amor, para siempre y por siempre. Y aún te amo, siempre.”

She believed him. Because as beautiful as she was to him, he was even more so to her, this man who had been taken from her far too soon. She kissed his forehead and held him tight, content in the fact that they had another lifetime, another eon, to spend in each other’s arms.


End file.
